


The thrill, of under me you quite so new

by dontlookitsfilthy



Series: The feelings we exchange can remake our destiny [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chara POV, Couch Sex, DFAB Chara, DMAB Frisk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Multi, NSFW, Nonbinary Chara and Frisk, Oral, POV Second Person, Pegging, Polyamory, Post-Game, Smut, Spit-roasting, Threesome, Undertail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontlookitsfilthy/pseuds/dontlookitsfilthy
Summary: Frisk buys Chara and Asriel a present.It's a sex toy.(This fic takes place some fifteen or so years after the game; characters are in their mid-twenties.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains extremely explicit sexual content. If you are not 18 or older, please turn back now.
> 
> There are a fair few content tags on this fic! Make sure to check them!  
> Also, one more content note: because this fic is a sequel to _This joy within my heart_ , reference is made to Asriel's body-image issues. If that is the sort of thing that will make you uncomfortable, please take note.
> 
> The title for this fic comes from the poem, _I Like My Body When It Is With Your_ , by e. e. cummings.

There are a lot of things which you hate. 

There are a lot of things which you hate that, regardless, you've done anyway. 

There are a lot of things which you hate that, regardless, you’ve done anyway, because it will make Frisk and Asriel happy.

Love makes you stupid, you suppose. But you’ve made bad decisions for worse reasons before, so perhaps being foolish for those you love isn’t the most awful thing you could be doing.

And love makes you want to be better, too; it makes you want to be someone they can be proud to love in return. It makes you happy to do the dishes and clean the bathtub, it makes you remember to get your prescriptions filled on time, and it makes you hum along to whatever your iPod is playing when you’re home alone, knitting or working on your garden.

You must really and truly love Asriel Dreemurr, then, because there surely is no other force on this earth that could motivate you to get up at six A.M. to accompany him to a crossfit course three times a week. A crossfit course where you’re _not the only human in the room_. 

(It was the only one you could find with a monster instructor, though, and that counts for a lot. You can deal with other humans being around, if you’re with Asriel, and can use him as a shield between you and them. You absolutely would  _ not _ be able to deal with another human instructing you, or watching you closely to tell you how to position your knees when you do squats, or standing over you to spot you for bench pressing.)

Asriel had told you that you didn’t need to go with him, that he was choosing to do this for himself, and that all he needed from you and Frisk was the emotional support he knew he could count on you both for. Which was sweet of him, but you know your partner. He would attend for a week, maybe two, and then start making excuses for himself, skipping one day this week, another that week, until he slipped right into not going at all. With you putting yourself through this torture as well, however, he’s got no choice but to accompany you.

Besides which, watching Asriel do pull-ups and squats, and seeing him get all red in the nose and pant with his mouth open and his eyes a little unfocused, and listening to his little grunts when he does an overhead press or a deadlift…. Well. Perhaps there are some perks to joining him in this endeavor, after all. You certainly feel a large swell of pride, too, at how obviously impressed and envious the other participants are, when they see just how much weight Asriel has loaded onto his barbells. He is, of course, oblivious to why people are staring, to the point where he asks the instructor if he’s done something wrong, and she has to tell everyone else to focus on their own workouts. You don’t bother trying to hide your smug grin.

The real deciding factor that outweighs your misery at being awake before the sun is up, however, is how Asriel smiles at the end of every class, giddy with exhaustion and endorphins. He tries to nuzzle you as you leave, and you shove him off with a laugh, the both of you overheated from the demanding exercises, and his fur unpleasant where it rubs against your sweat-sticky skin. But you do tilt your head up so he can have a kiss, and you let him hold your hand. Your face is already red with exertion, so nobody can see how you blush.

So three times a week, you wake up entirely too early, leave Frisk enviably snoozing in bed, and join Asriel for crossfit. By the time you get home, Frisk is usually up and starting to make breakfast, which is typically ready when you’re out of the shower. They’ve been avoiding meals with lots of carbs, like french toast and pancakes and waffles, and you’re kind of annoyed, but Undyne had told you that your body was going to need more protein than normal, to help you avoid being quite so sore after your workouts and build muscle. You still sulk about the menu of eggs and bacon, but if there’s anyone you trust to know these things, it’s Undyne. 

(When Asriel had finally started to talk with his therapist about his feelings toward his body, and then started to consider what he actually wanted to do to feel better about it, naturally he’d wound up talking to friends and family, too. He hadn’t let on to the full extent of his feelings, only mentioned he was thinking about losing some weight, though you suspect Alphys understood much of what he left unsaid. But it was Undyne who’d provided some of the most helpful advice—not only in terms of how to build muscle or tone, if that was what Asriel decided on, but also in terms of setting goals. ‘You can’t have some vague idea of, “I gotta get fit!” or “I wanna look better!” How are you gonna know when you finally reach that!?’ she’d yelled, in her element. ‘You won’t; you’ll just keep deciding it’s not enough! So you gotta pick something definite! Like “I’m gonna be able to do fifteen reps benching Frisk and Chara!” Or “I’m dropping two inches off my waistline!” You gotta have a goal you can  _ measure_!’)

So it’s thanks to Undyne that you’re willing to do a violence if it’ll get you a plate of chocolate chip pancakes. But it’s for Asriel, and so you’ll deal with it. And there’s cheat days to look forward to, at least. 

After the three of you finish breakfast, Frisk and Asriel leave for work, giving you kisses as they head out the door. You have the house to yourself for the rest of the day, until they both get home. Usually you try to work on a knitting project or several, and do at least a little cleaning, even if only something like the laundry or dishes. On days when you’re feeling particularly productive, you’ve managed to clean entire rooms top to bottom. 

Today, you get as far as putting a load of laundry in and vacuuming the living room. You try to remember your partners’ voices telling you that it’s good, it’s an accomplishment, and doing a little bit every day will prevent it from piling up and becoming too much for any of you to handle. You manage, at least, to accept that it’s better than nothing. You want to start working on your knitting—Bratty and Catty’s stock has been dwindling, and you’d like to get them some new dolls and, now that the weather’s changing, some nice knit caps—you stopped cleaning so you could move on to the various projects you want to do today—but guilt at the fact that there’s still cleaning you  _ could _ be doing keeps you from going into your room to grab your yarn, and you lose two hours to checking twitter and watching cute animals on youtube, and don’t get any knitting or cleaning done.

The mail comes early, just before the afternoon has really started; normally you wouldn't notice, but the postal worker knocks at the front door, in need of a signature for a package. It's addressed to F. Dreemurr, from an address and business you don't recognize. You set it on the coffee table in front of the couch, pulling out your phone.

_ Package for F. Dreemurr showed up today. _

Frisk’s reply comes almost immediately.  _ nice. thnx! _

You raise your eyebrows at the screen, looking at the little brown paper package on the table. There aren’t any birthdays coming up, and normally Frisk prefers to gift people experiences rather than physical possessions, taking them out to dinners or theater shows or amusement parks to celebrate. It’s the wrong season for starting any plants from seeds, if they meant to surprise you with something for your garden—and the package is a bit big for that, besides. Normally you find out in advance if they’re buying something nice for the house or for themself online, not because they feel they have to tell you, but because they’re so excited for their planned purchases that they like to show them off to you and Asriel. The quick, casual, and uninformative reply they’ve texted you is completely atypical.

You toss the phone onto the couch cushions and go to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer. Having to actually get up to get the mail got you to take your laptop off your lap and set it on the table, and you need to take the chance to get things done before something on the screen can distract you again: you finally leave the living room to go get your yarn. There are a couple of scarves you’ve been absently knitting for when you don’t feel like thinking about what your hands are doing, plus a half-done periwinkle sweater that, while you weren’t looking, seems to have wound up around Asriel’s size. You grab all three projects, along with the basket where you keep the needles and yarn you’re using, plus some printouts of new patterns you’ve wanted to try, and you return to the living room. Your phone sits quietly where you left it, screen dark. 

You blow your bangs out of your face, set the basket next to the package, and pick up your phone again.

_ What is it? _

Once again, Frisk is quick to reply. You don’t doubt that they were waiting for you to give in and ask. For all that, their text simply reads,  _ youll see! ;) _

Before you can remark on that cheeky wink, your phone buzzes with another text.  _ ps u eat lunch yet? _

You narrow your eyes at the screen, even as you’re smiling.  _ You are an unbearable rapscallion, _ you send, letting them know their redirection hasn’t gone unnoticed, even as you make your way to the kitchen.  _ Very well. I’ll leave it for now. _

You have to set the phone on the counter when you pull open the refrigerator, needing both hands to grab the tupperware of leftover pasta. Papyrus has recently discovered spaghetti squash—you’re sort of amazed it’s taken this long, actually. Then again, it took him a good six months to get past the discovery of spaghettios two years ago, a time that is still impressed thoroughly into everyone’s memories. Whatever someone might say about Papyrus’s culinary journey, nobody can deny how thorough he is when he explores new ideas. So his focus is now on spaghetti squash, and may stay there for the next year, and Frisk is delighted to help him and Undyne try new recipes. 

The vegetable noodles are actually not bad. At least, not as bad as you’d feared.

Your phone loudly vibrates across the counter as you load a bowl into the microwave. You set the timer to reheat your lunch, and check Frisk’s reply:  _ <3 <3 <3!!! see u soon! _

When you sit down with your steaming bowl of vegetable spaghetti, the living room coffee table is visible through the kitchen’s doorway. The little brown package sits innocuously in your direct line of sight. 

You manage to actually wash the bowl, tupperware,  _ and _ fork when you’re done, instead of leaving them in the sink to soak. Returning to the living room, you grab your laptop and set it next to the package on the table. You make yourself comfortable on the sofa, pulling the basket of knitting supplies onto the cushions next to you, a skein of blue yarn and your needles ready on your lap, and you queue up an episode of the newest show you and Alphys have been watching. You don't really trust this studio to handle the subplot they introduced last episode, but Alphys insists on seeing it through to the end of the season, and if it ends as terribly as you predict, she'll need someone to vent to, so you guess you’re in for the long haul. You wind up having to redo more than a few rows in your knitting—maybe you shouldn't be watching subtitled anime while working on anything more complex than a scarf, but since when has good sense stopped you from doing something? 

You get through another few episodes before you hear the front door open. A glance at the clock on your laptop screen reveals it's a bit more than half an hour earlier than you can usually expect your partners home. You lean back into the couch cushions and lift your head to see, and there’s Frisk, alone. They’re holding the doorknob still to prevent it from making that little clicking noise as they pull the door shut behind them.

“Suspicious,” you say, raising your voice just enough so that they startle, their head jerking up to see you lounging on the sofa. “Sneaking back early—where’s Asriel?”

They grin, lopsided, and let go of the doorknob. “Work,” they answer, shrugging out of their blazer. (Bright red, and actually one of yours. But it matches unfortunately well with the reds in the stupid, novelty Mew Mew Kissy Cutie tie that they’re wearing, so you let them borrow it today. You don’t know how anyone can take them seriously, the way they dress—except you do, because they’re Frisk.) 

“And what is it that was so important you abandoned him there?” Sometimes, it’s worth asking a question you already know the answer to. The way Frisk’s grin grows, as their gaze travels to the package sitting on the table, still sealed, is more than reason enough.

“Wanted to surprise you,” they say, coming to join you on the couch. You have to quickly pull your knees up to avoid them crushing your feet as they practically fall onto the cushions—of course, as big as the couch is, they decide to sit right where your feet were. You give them a glare, and it washes right over them. They lean forward to grab the package, and they pick at its taped edges as they settle back, reclining in a lazy slouch and sinking into the plush sofa. 

You’ve waited all day, and you haven’t even picked it up and shaken it around to try to figure out what’s inside. Still, you refrain from making a sarcastic comment about how there will be no point to them having snuck home before Asriel if they keep dallying, and instead you knit a few more stitches while you wait for them to finish fidgeting.

“Seems silly now,” they mumble, working a nail under the tape and pulling. “But you and Asriel are working hard. Set a goal and stuck to it. Haven’t missed a single day since you started.” They’re talking about Asriel’s crossfit, you realize. They give a good tug, and the package rips open in their hands; they let it rest in their lap, and look up at you. “Even though I don’t go with you,” and they close their mouth, pressing their lips together in a familiar flat line as they search for the right words. The care they always take, when speaking to you, or Asriel, or your mother—they’ll blurt out anything to strangers, without hesitation or regret, but with you and the monsters that make up your extended family, they tread cautiously, slowly navigating through even the simplest sentences. 

At first, it had made you mad—you didn’t want them to feel like they had to worry, like they had to tread on eggshells around you, like any of you would think less of them if they said something wrong. And how could they think that of  _ you_, who’d already seen their worst thoughts, the anger and hurt they’d shoved away and tried to hide out of sight, tried to bury where nobody would ever find it, not realizing that you’d already wedged yourself into those dark crevices inside them? Didn’t they know you loved them anyway, in spite of their frightening anger and idiotic ideals? Couldn’t they trust you not to leave them for the smallest of mistakes, when you’d already stuck with them through their most terrible of choices? 

Now, though, you’ve come to understand. The importance Frisk places in words, and the power they know words to hold—they’re not afraid of your reaction. They simply consider you too precious to speak to you carelessly. 

“Wanted to support you. Wanted you to know, I,” they pause to swallow, and they smile, bashful, uneven. “Think you’re really wonderful. Wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Their voice is low, and their eyebrows raised, and you have an inkling as to what this ‘something nice’ entails. A rush of heat travels down your sternum and gathers in your belly, and you take your time moving your knitting and needles from your lap to set them on the coffee table next to your laptop. Frisk squirms under your gaze and fidgets with the torn packaging. “A treat for our good behaviour?” you tease, once you’ve settled back to lean into the corner of the L-shaped couch. “Reward me, Frisk. I need positive reinforcement for every little accomplishment.” Your voice is sarcastic, but the words aren’t even halfway joking. Honestly, Frisk deserves a more sincere thanks, but how can you even begin to put genuine words to the joy thrilling through you at hearing that they’ve noticed how much effort you’ve been putting into this? 

They smile at you even as they roll their eyes, and you’re probably the only person on this earth who can actually discern the motion for what it is. Finally, they slip a hand into the package, and you hear the crinkle of plastic. “Should fit all right,” they say, withdrawing something black and strappy, sealed in a clear plastic bag, which they promptly pull apart. “Got buckles, too. For adjusting.” 

Something wearable, that’s got Frisk speaking in that low tone that makes you hyper aware of your clothes on your skin, of your binder constraining your chest and your hair brushing the back of your neck, can only be so many things. Plastic and packaging discarded to the side, Frisk holds up what at first looks like a handful of straps, until you see the dangling flat black triangle, a hole in its center. Your smile grows wide. 

“What a thoughtful gift,” you murmur, reaching forward. Frisk hands the harness to you eagerly, and you hold it up to examine it. The straps fall in an arrangement vaguely like a pair of panties, save an extra set that—ah, you see. Those ones would wrap around your legs, below the cheeks of your ass. Like Frisk said, there are small buckles to tighten or loosen as needed. 

You lower your hands, letting the harness rest on your lap, and you raise your eyebrows at them. “Something nice, for me and Asriel,” you say. 

Frisk nods. When you blush, your cheeks are bright enough to guide ships through a storm, but Frisk’s face hardly ever changes. Their ears, often hidden in their hair, are the real giveaway, and you’re satisfied to see them redden now. 

“I wonder when you found the time to order this,” you murmur, and you hook two fingers through the hole in the harness’s center. Frisk’s breath catches. “And you managed to do all your research without either of us noticing.” There’s no doubt in your mind that Frisk has already read at least twenty articles on how to get the best results using harnesses and strap-ons. Every time they’ve come to you and Asriel with some new idea or position or toy to try out in the bedroom, they’re fully informed and ready to answer any questions and assuage any doubts. You’ve wondered, a little, if this habit of thorough research didn’t really originate from the years they spent away from you in college, with only their imagination and their hand and a single silicone toy for company. But if lonely searches for entertainment are in fact what spawned Frisk’s tendency to read up on anything before they try it, it’s certainly come in handy. When the two of you researched dom/sub practices to help Asriel, Frisk already knew half of what you’d discovered, the terminology that you’d never heard before already familiar to them. 

And so, with all the time they must have spent reading up on strap-ons and harnesses, before ordering this little gift…. You run a finger down one of the straps, as you ask, “How much did you fantasize about me using this with Asriel?”

You can see them gulp. “Thought about it all month,” they admit at a whisper. 

“And of course,” you smirk, setting the harness aside with your knitting so that you can lean forward, “Asriel’s not the only one I can use this with.” You trace Frisk’s parted lips with a thumb, your other hand cupping their cheek. They make a tiny noise, dropping their head to take your thumb into their mouth, their tongue swirling around it as they suck. Your own breath comes out loud and shaky on your next exhale. 

You draw your other hand from their cheek, grazing their skin lightly as your fingertips travel down their jaw, over the bump of their adam’s apple, past their shirt collar, and down the silky path of their tie until your palm rests flat on the center of their chest. There, you push, slow and firm. Frisk lets themself fall under your hand, pausing only to move back so the arm of the couch supports them comfortably when they recline. They kick off their shoes and bring up their legs, and after some shuffling, the two of you manage to situate yourselves on the sofa with you sitting on their thighs. Their hands come to rest on your hips, toying with the skin exposed where your shirt’s ridden up, before they trace around the top hem of your pants in toward to your zipper. You work your fingers into the knot of their tie, still using only the one hand—your other still occupied, though Frisk’s moved from thumb to your index and middle fingers, sucking both down to the knuckle. Their tongue presses between them, and you inhale sharply. 

You glance briefly to your laptop screen as you undo Frisk’s tie and pull it free. The tiny digits of the display are a little hard to make out at this distance, but you confirm that Asriel’s due home shortly—you expect he’ll show up anywhere in the next five to fifteen minutes. Perfect. You withdraw your fingers from Frisk’s mouth, shuddering at the needy noise they make when your fingertips pass their lips. 

“You really are a crafty little gremlin,” you murmur, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and lifting it up over your head. Once you’ve tossed it to the floor and can look down at Frisk again, they’ve plastered a completely guileless smile on their face. The barely visible slivers of their dark eyes sparkle mischievously, as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ The effect is completely ruined as they slip their fingers under the hem of your binder, helping you get a hold of it so you can pull it off. “You knew exactly how this was going to play out,” you accuse.

“Hoped so, anyway,” they murmur out in admission. As soon as your binder’s off, their hands are sliding up your belly and chest, cupping your breasts. You lean into their touch, moaning and letting your eyes fall shut. You’re always more sensitive after just taking your binder off, and they take shameless advantage, rolling your nipples between their fingers. One hand slips around your back, guiding you to scoot forward til you’re sitting on their stomach, then pulling you down, and you have to hold yourself up with hands braced on the arm of the couch as Frisk’s mouth closes over one nipple. Your voice rises, loud and full, and their hand on your back drags fingers down your spine, spots of heat standing out against the cold air on your naked skin. You can feel their teeth, that slight edge of pressure around your nipple as their tongue flicks over it, and your arms buckle. 

“Frisk,” you whisper between moans, as their hand on your back leads you to shift the side so they can get their mouth on your other breast. You let them draw a few more little moans and gasps out of you, before you straighten your arms to push yourself up. The cold air on your wet nipples is far less pleasant than Frisk’s tongue. Their hands fall to your hips once more, as you regard them: chest rising and falling, lips slightly parted, hair already a mess, ears bright red. You sit back in their lap, and you can feel them hard underneath you. It’s impossible not to roll your hips down a little, and they groan, bucking up.

You run your fingers through their messy hair, careful of any tangles, and you lean down to press your lips to theirs. The eager noise they make into the kiss makes your entire body pulse with forceful, heated want, and you bite gently at their lower lip, earning another needy moan. Their hips jerk helplessly under yours, and they bring their hands up, cupping your face, their fingers stroking along your jaw, your cheekbones, your eyebrows, the shells of your ears. They curl their fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, and a shiver runs down your spine. 

You drop your hands to their shirt, fingers seeking out the buttons by touch alone. Frisk trembles when you finally pop the first one free. You work their shirt open slowly, what should be a simple task taking twice as long as Frisk kisses you deeply, sucking on your tongue and rocking their hips up into you. Once the last button is undone, you slide your hands under the fabric. Their skin is soft and warm under your palms as you push their shirt open; they give a little twitch as your fingers pass over their nipples, and they whimper into your mouth as your hands drift back down over their stomach and to the button of their pants. 

The angle becomes awkward, then; you’re hunched, your stomach tense supporting your weight as your hands are otherwise occupied, and you’ll have to move to get to the rest of Frisk’s fly anyway, seated on their lap as you are. You give them one last nip on their lower lip before you break the kiss and straighten up. Their eyelids flutter, and you know they’re staring at you, at the picture you make, topless and flushed and panting. You don’t hesitate to take another look at them in return, nor do you bother to contain the smug grin that spreads across your face at seeing how much you’ve made them come undone already. With their shirt open, you spot a faded hickey you left on their collarbone a couple nights ago. 

(Winter is coming, and that means scarf weather. You’re looking forward to it.)

“You’re amazing,” they whisper, their hands drifting over your shoulders, fingertips dragging over your biceps. They hum appreciatively, tracing the subtle curve of muscle. “Not just Asriel getting something out of crossfit,” they grin.

“Soon I’ll be the one carrying the two of you around,” you joke back, even as you preen under their touch. They chuckle, still running their hands flat over your arms and your sides, looking up at you with wonder and admiration in their smile. It’s easier to accept that loving gaze than it used to be, but even now, you can only take so much of that open affection before you have to duck your head.

You scoot back down Frisk’s legs, out of their reach, and, rising to your knees, you give them a couple of pats on the thigh. They get the message, spreading their legs so you can move to kneel between them, and you bend forward to finish undoing their fly. They eagerly reach down to help, and the two of you work their pants and briefs down their thighs, Frisk wiggling their hips to make it a little easier. Their cock springs up, hard and dark and wet at the tip.

You’re not quite flexible enough to simply bend at the waist and fold your knees under you where you are, and you’re certainly not capable of holding that kind of position for the entire duration of a blow job. Instead, you crawl backwards, further down the cushions, until you’re able to lay flat between Frisk’s legs, propped up with your forearms resting on their thighs, your hands on the jut of their hipbone. Your legs find the sofa’s corner, your favourite spot to wedge yourself, and you rest your shins on the seat back there. 

(You always hate to admit it, but it’s times like this that you’re thankful for Asriel’s insistence on buying the huge couch.)

Frisk has one hand splayed against the back of the sofa, and the other grips the side of the pillow under them. The fabric of their jeans, pulled down just enough to free their cock and no further, is rough under your bare chest. The zipper hits the skin of one breast, and it’s colder than you’d have expected. 

You wrap your fingers around the base of their cock, your other hand brushing your hair behind your ear. You can feel the minute quivering of their thighs under you, and you can tell when your breath ghosts across Frisk’s skin. You raise your eyes to watch their expression when you lick the head of their dick, and it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen their eyes fall shut and their mouth drop open and their hands squeeze the pillows. You could watch it happen a thousand more times; it will always make you pulse with a need so terrible you ache. Satisfied, you drop your head to take them into your mouth, and Frisk cries out your name.

Romance novels dictate that you should like the way your partners taste, but you’ve never been a huge fan. It’s not  _ bad_, but from the way Frisk loves to suck Asriel off or eat you out, it’s clear that there’s a difference in how much you appreciate each others’ particular flavours. Besides which, it’s difficult to breathe around a dick in your mouth—even breathing through your nose, you feel like you never get enough air—and while Frisk seems to have cheerfully and utterly demolished what little gag reflex they may have once possessed, yours is still active, and can at times be very quick to show up. 

But despite your complaints, you love making Frisk fall apart underneath you, whatever the method. You love the heat of them on your tongue, the texture of their skin, how something so hard when it’s in your hands or your pussy can still have a certain softness to it when you press your tongue against the head. They moan and whimper and whine as you slide your lips down further; their legs shake and their hips buck. You drag your tongue up the underside of their cock and they yelp, and the sound sends yet another rush of arousal to throb between your legs. Angling your wrist so your fingers stroke the underside of their cock, your thumb on the top, you pump what doesn’t fit into your mouth, and you suck hard enough to make your cheeks hollow.

“Chara,” Frisk gasps, breathless, barely above a whisper, and they say your name again and again as you bob your head, their voice pouring into the word, filling it up, “Chara, Chara, Chara,  _ Chara!_”

The sound of the front door opening travels through the room, followed immediately by the bang of Asriel slamming it shut. You smile as much as you can around Frisk’s dick, pulling back until your lips barely cover the head, tonguing at the tip, and your name becomes a wordless shout in their mouth. 

“Golly,” you hear, and Frisk’s next desperate cry is muffled. The couch cushions shift under you, and look up to see Asriel with one knee on the sofa for support, leaning over Frisk and cupping their face as he kisses them deeply. They arch up into the touch, and you move your head back down to slide your lips down their cock, taking them as far into your mouth as you can without gagging, still stroking the rest of the shaft. You can’t see their face anymore at this angle, but you can hear them whimper into Asriel’s mouth, and your other hand slips between their legs, cupping their balls. 

You hear the muffled syllables of your name, and then Frisk gasps, presumably having pulled away to break the kiss. “Chara!” they cry out, and it’s fortunate that’s all the warning you need, because that’s all they can manage before they’re coming into your mouth. You swallow—it still tastes as bland as you remember—and you suck at them until they’re done, until they start to go soft in your mouth, and they tremble and whimper.

Rising up to sit back on your heels, you lick your lips and fondly regard the sight before you. At some point Frisk must have twisted to grab at Asriel’s shoulders for a support preferable to the couch cushions, and they’re still hanging helplessly onto him, chest heaving. Considerately letting them catch their breath, Asriel’s moved from their mouth to kissing their jaw and neck, tender and gentle touches from his lips to their skin. 

“Welcome home,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of a hand. You don’t think you missed anything when you swallowed, but, well. Habit.

Asriel turns his head to smile at you. “What a welcome to come home to,” he teases between kisses. Frisk makes a pleased humming sound, and you have to make an effort not to look at the table where the harness is still sitting. Clearly, Asriel hasn’t noticed it, or if he saw it when he came in, he hasn’t realized what it is. Maybe he’s assumed it’s part of your knitting. The thought nearly makes you crack up; as it is, you’re quite sure your smile looks a little strained. 

All you say is, “We’ve only just started.” Asriel’s nose flushes a little pinker, and your smile gets a little more natural. 

“Got a,” Frisk says, and then has to take a breath, still a little overwhelmed. You’re already grinning, but you’re sure your partners can recognize the smug satisfaction in your expression. Slowly sitting up, they try again, and manage a full sentence this time. Or at least, what counts as a full sentence from Frisk. “Got a surprise for you.” Once upright, they give Asriel a slow, satisfied kiss, and when they stand up from the couch, they pull their pants the rest of the way down and step out of them. 

(You notice, now, that they’re wearing one of those pairs of socks that form a face if their feet are next to each other, an eye on each ankle and a mouth split across both feet. The design on this pair is a cute monster from one of those anime that’s basically an extended commercial for a card game. You remember Toriel buying those, and telling the cashier that they were for her child; you’re pretty sure the store clerk thought her child was five, not twenty-five.)

Frisk moves to grab their discarded clothes, along with your shirt, binder, and the packaging for the harness, and you note Asriel’s eyes on the curve of their ass when they bend down. You do love how transparent your partner is. “Gonna be right back,” Frisk says, winking at you as they leave the room, wearing only their absurd socks and open shirt, and you sit back on the couch. 

Once Frisk has disappeared down the hallway and Asriel’s eyes are no longer glued to their ass, Asriel brings himself to stand in front of you, squeezing between your shins and the coffee table. “Howdy,” he grins, and you smirk up at him. He rests a knee between your legs, holding himself up with a hand on the back of the sofa, and you arch up to meet him for a kiss. Though you’d like very much to deepen it, to bite at his lip and suck at his tongue and pull him down, he keeps it light and quick. “I take it you know what they’re getting?” he asks at the corner of your mouth, his free hand carding through your hair. Anticipation has made his voice rough and breathy both, and you reach up to bury your fingers in the fur at the nape of his neck. Whatever jokes Frisk made about your muscles, you don’t have the strength to pull Asriel anywhere he doesn’t want to go; he chooses to bow under your hands and to move his lips to the dip of your collarbone.

“Yes,” you say, answer and encouragement both, as his hands fall from your hair to drag his fingertips down your neck, caressing your shoulder, his claws feather light following the pads of his fingers on your skin. You know he’s trying to go slow, to tease a little, but he’s never been so good at delayed gratification, and it’s not long at all before he reaches your breast. You moan happily, pushing up into his hand. 

His mouth, too, starts to drift lower, and you feel the shift in the cushions as he drops down to kneel on the floor, his other hand migrating to your hip. It’s a little bit of a squeeze for him to get between the sofa and the coffee table like this, but he manages. 

“Have anything to do with why they left the embassy early?” he asks, his lips moving against your skin. 

The harness is behind him on the table; you’re pretty sure that from this angle, Asriel can’t see when your eyes flick to it. “Yes,” you say again. He kisses at the center of your chest, the smooth skin of your breastbone, and marks out a path of kisses to your breast; you shiver under his tongue when he licks wet circles around your nipple, and you moan when he presses his lips to it. 

He doesn’t linger at your chest long, and you make a shameless noise in the back of your throat when he abandons your breasts to lick and kiss his way down your stomach. He has to scoot back a little bit to have enough room, and his lower back bumps the coffee table. With a frown, he leans into it, pushing until he has a few more inches of clearance. Satisfied, he returns his attention to you, having moved both his hands to just above your knees. His thumbs rub at the insides of your thighs, and you let your legs splay further apart around him. Instead of reaching up to undo your fly, he lowers his head to press his lips against the inseam of your pants, and even through the fabric you feel the damp heat of his mouth. Your voice catches on the first syllable of his name as he travels up your inner thigh.

“You’re going to make me wait until Frisk gets back, aren’t you?” he asks against the fabric, amusement in his voice.

“ _Yes,_ ” you gasp, as he presses his mouth just under your fly. You swear you can feel his breath pass through your pants and underwear both, hot and damp where you’re already soaking wet. “Asriel!” you cry, as he actually  _ licks _ the crotch of your pants. 

When he chuckles, you can feel that, too. He runs his hands up your legs before he lifts his head just far enough to undo your fly. You’d be happy to get your pants just down to your knees, but Asriel leans back to have enough room to drag them all the way to your ankles. Your boxers go with them, and Asriel wastes no time returning his mouth to between your legs. His tongue slips into you, and you shout, your hips jerking up. As always, Asriel’s hands on your thighs do nothing to keep you still, and you rock into his mouth. His own needy moan goes nearly unheard as you cry out, as he licks and sucks at you. He knows everything you like—knows that if he presses his tongue inside you as far as he can, you’ll shudder and groan; that if he licks up to your clit, your voice will go high and fast, that you’ll gasp and cry out quick little noises as he flicks his tongue over you. And so he does, working you expertly, letting you lift a leg to hook it over his shoulder, opening you up with his mouth and tongue alone. 

Very rapidly you find your orgasm building within you, and you drop your chin down to your chest so you can look at him, with his eyes closed and his pink nose pressed against your curls. With a steadiness that belies the mounting intensity inside you, you raise one hand to stroke his ear, running your fingers down the soft fur and skin. He makes another of those noises, want and pleasure both blended into the desperate whine, and your head falls back as you come, yelling, “Ree!”

Helplessly shivering with aftershocks, you sag into the couch cushions. Asriel continues to lick at you, slow and like he’s savouring something delicious, until you tell him, “That’s good.” Your voice is absent, only a breathless whisper remaining, but it’s enough. He lifts his head and licks his lips and looks far too pleased; you’re too content to care. Your hand absently strokes his ear again, and he tilts his head into your touch. 

“Nice,” comes Frisk’s voice, as they make their way around to sit on the other end of the couch. In one hand they hold a little bottle of water-based lubricant, and you feel a smile on your face when you see the bright green silicone dildo they hold in the other. When they’d first purchased it in college, they’d said it was because the green made them think of you and Asriel. Both you and Asriel had gone red and yelled incoherent denials, though of what, you can’t even be sure; Frisk had decided that the best way to put you at ease was to ask if you wanted to watch them use it. You think it took hours for Asriel’s nose to go from cherry red back to the little tint of pink it normally carries. 

(Obviously, you’d taken them up on the offer, a few days later.)

“Is this part of the surprise?” Asriel asks, rising up from his knees. He makes a face as he straightens his legs out, and when he sits next to you on the couch, you reach over to put your hand on his knee and give an apologetic squeeze. Neither of you remembered to grab him a pillow to kneel on; you resolve not to forget about his needs next time, even if he  _ is _ doing his best to make you forget everything but his mouth.

Frisk nods, and looks to you. Their smile is slight, but it’s still easy for you to see how eager they are, as they sit straight up, almost leaning forward, instead of relaxing back into the couch as they normally would. You suppose you’re going to have to actually get up. 

“Frisk,” you say, wiggling so you’re a little more upright, “why don’t you get Asriel out of his clothes, while I get things ready?”

A grin blooms on their face, and they set the bottle of lube and the dildo on the table. Its bottom is flared, so Frisk is able to set it standing straight up, and it wobbles slightly when their hand leaves it. Then they’re crawling over the couch and into Asriel’s lap, laying excited kisses on his face as they start to help him out of his shirt. You’re not surprised to see that his pants are tented, but you are pleased. 

You kick your own pants and boxers off your feet and under the table, glad you didn’t bother with putting shoes or socks back on after your morning shower. You stand up, completely nude, and pick the harness up, holding it between both hands. You have to turn it over in your hands a bit until you get it sorted out, and you step into it like a pair of panties, pulling the straps up your legs. It’s loose when you get it up to your hips, which you suppose is to be expected, and you go about tightening the various buckles. Probably best to err on the side of more secure than not, you think, considering the demand you’re about to place on it, and you make sure every black strap is snug around your hips and legs. 

Then you look from the hole at the harness’s center, to the flared bottom of the dildo, and realise you’re going to have to loosen the entire thing up again to get the toy fitted in. 

You hear Asriel suck in a sharp breath behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see him staring at you, even as he’s lifting his hips to help Frisk slide his pants down. “Is that,” he asks, and then swallows, “what I think it is?”

You smile. “That depends,” you tease. “What do you think it is?”

If he has an answer—or, more likely, a whiny retort to your own smartass reply—it’s lost as Frisk palms him through his briefs, and he groans, bucking up into their hand. You leave them to it as you grab the bright green phallus, fitting it into the harness and pulling the straps tight. 

Everything secured, you take your hands away, and the sight of the dildo jutting out from between your legs arrests your gaze. You regard it for a moment, considering how your mind is reacting despite the unnatural colour and the feel of straps around your hips and legs, and then you wrap your fingers around the shaft. You don’t feel anything, of course, but the simple perspective, of looking down your own torso and seeing a dick sticking out from your crotch, is enough to send another eager rush pulsing through you, thrumming through the lips of your pussy and tingling where the harness touches you. 

“Chara,” Asriel moans helplessly, and you look up to find him staring at you. His nose is flushed bright as your cheeks, and his mouth hangs open. His cock stands tall and hard, dark at the head; you stroke the silicone between your legs, and Asriel whimpers, his dick twitching. His fingers flex against the cushions of the couch, digging his claws in, though thankfully they aren’t sharp enough to puncture the upholstery. Frisk sits next to him, absently toying with his nipples and the fur on his chest as they, too, stare shamelessly. Their breath is shallow again, their eyes half-lidded; they’re still flaccid, but you don’t think that will be the case for much longer.

“It was Frisk’s idea,” you say. “To celebrate how well we’ve been sticking to your crossfit classes. Do you like it?”

He nods, rapidly, ears flipping up off his shoulders from the motion. 

“Would you like to try it out?”

It’s been years since Asriel reached orgasm too early, before either you or Frisk could even so much as touch his dick, but with the way he whines now, you almost think he’s about to come from your words alone. Frisk drags their fingers in gentle, soothing strokes down his chest, through that soft fur, as they nuzzle his neck right under his jaw. “Get you ready if you want,” they offer.

“Please,” Asriel begs, hoarse, his gaze remaining on you as if pinned.

Frisk guides Asriel, positioning him on his hands and knees on the couch cushions, as you grab the little bottle of lubricant. You pour some into your palm before handing the bottle off to Frisk, and absently slick your silicone phallus with it, your attention more focused on the sight in front of you. Frisk leans over Asriel, their chest against his back, and as they work slippery fingers into him, they whisper, low and loving and unabashed, coaxing moans and whimpers from him as they describe how much they love to hear him cry out, how they can’t wait to watch you fuck him, how good they want to make him feel. Asriel shakes visibly, and he pushes back onto Frisk’s fingers, his arms quaking with the effort of holding him up, his legs quivering. Their free hand rests on his hip, sometimes reaching up to pat his back soothingly, at one point coming down to dig their fingers into his fur at the base of his stubby tail, which sticks up and out of the way. His dick hangs hard and heavy and untouched between his legs. Precome beads at the tip, and something occurs to you. 

“We need a towel,” you mutter. It’s one thing to make a mess of the bedsheets, which are easily stripped from the bed to wash; you don’t relish the thought of having to clean the couch cushions from this. 

Frisk makes an okay sign at you with their free hand, the message clear:  _ I’ve got this. He’ll be fine a moment longer. _ You still hurry on your way to the hall closet, and you grab the first towel from the top of the pile. It’s not until you’re halfway back that you notice what’s in your hands.

Well. At least having a silicone dick means that your boner won’t be killed when you notice that you’ve accidentally grabbed one of the anime character towels gifted to you by Alphys, back when you moved into this house. As you enter the living room, you fold it over so the design is no longer visible. It’s not like anybody’s going to be looking at it, anyway.

Your partners are, of course, as you left them, Asriel helpless and moaning under Frisk’s hands, Frisk soaking up every gasp and shuddering cry, still murmuring lewd encouragement that makes Asriel’s voice catch and his cock jump. The dildo bobs between your legs as you walk toward them, and you bend to place the towel on the cushions under Asriel, tucking it so it won’t come loose if you jostle the couch too much. Once done, you remain where you are, setting a hand flat on Asriel’s back, feeling him shake under your touch. You lean in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. 

He’s beautiful—garnet eyes and black-striped cheeks and curling horns, his nose flushed and his mouth hanging open to gasp as Frisk must be curling their fingers inside him—he’s so wonderful. Every part of him. He has made progress on his goal toward changing his appearance—and you’re relieved, honestly, that you could get him to talk about it, so he could go about things in a healthy manner, with his therapist’s advice and everyone’s support, with guidance and input from people who actually understand monster physiology. It’s been slow going, but that’s what happens when you do things right, Undyne’s said, and he’s dropped about an inch off his waistline so far. Because he’s happy about that, you are too—but you’ve always loved everything that makes up Asriel Dreemurr, and you always will. You stroke his face, lightly tracing a line under his jaw, and you place another kiss atop his ear. “Just about ready?” you whisper.

It takes him a moment to figure out how to use his voice once again for anything other than needy moans; he manages a ragged, breathless, “ _Yes_ ,” before Frisk pulls another wordless cry out of him. You give his ear a gentle pat and rise to stand.

Frisk slowly eases their fingers out of him, placing a tender kiss in the center of his back as they move to give you room. You kneel on the cushions behind Asriel, your knees between his, and you run the flats of your hands up along the sides of his thighs, then back down, smoothing the fur you pushed up. You know your partners’ bodies near as well as your own, but this view of the curve of his spine and the fur softening the shape of his shoulderblades, his horns sticking up as he drops his head, and of course, his hips raised before yours—you spend a moment taking in the new and different perspective, letting your hands roam over his legs and hips and lower back. You can’t quite cup your palms on his ass from here, the angle wrong for your wrists, but you splay your fingers over the small of his back and drop your hands just enough so your thumbs press into him, holding him open.

Frisk is at your back, then, half kneeling on the couch behind you, their other foot on the floor. Their arms come around you, hands joining yours on Asriel, and they whisper into your ear an offer: “Help?”

“Mm,” you hum, considering. Frisk’s chest is warm and solid against your back, and you can feel their dick, half-hard already. They press small, leisurely kisses at the nape of your neck while you let go of Asriel with one hand, wrapping your fingers around your silicone dick instead. “Are you going to be my coach? Talk me through, step by step?”

Asriel whimpers, pushing his hips back toward you both. Frisk only chuckles, and they help you hold Asriel as you line yourself up with him. The smooth, rounded tip of the dildo presses into him, and you roll your hips a little, slowly pushing more in. Asriel groans, full-throated and low, as you ease the toy further. Once the head fully sinks in, the rest slides forward with ease, until your hips are flush with his. You put your hands on his hips, the way he and Frisk will sometimes do with you, with each other, and you remain still and listen to Asriel’s quick, heavy breaths, waiting for him to bottom out. There’s a silent moment, as he presses his lips together so he can swallow, and then his loud gasps resume. 

Frisk gives you another kiss on your neck, and then you feel them scoot back, their hands caressing your hips briefly as they pull away. Asriel’s shallow breathing doesn’t quiet, but the shaky exhales are a little slower. He’s calmed as much as he’s going to, probably; he quivers under your hands, but you don’t think he’s going to come the second you start to thrust. You move slowly, pulling your hips back, watching the shaft of the dildo emerge, and then you carefully rock your hips forward again, fascinated as the toy disappears into Asriel. He moans as you move in him, high and needy when you slowly withdraw, low and greedy when you ease back in. The motion, the muscles used, none of it is what you’re used to, and when you try to move a little faster, you jerk awkwardly, your hips remembering a different action entirely. Your next attempt is a little smoother, and gradually, you manage to work into a rhythm. 

“Chara,” Asriel cries, getting stuck on the R as you thrust. Your breasts bounce with each pump of your hips; if you do this again, you might want to wear some kind of support. He drops one arm, and then the other, now braced on his forearms, no longer able to hold himself up on his hands alone. His shoulders shake as you get used to a slightly quicker pace. “Chara,” he moans again, pushing his hips back, helping you fuck him. 

Frisk’s fingers at your elbow let you know they’re rising; they have to circle the table to get around to face Asriel, and they sit themself on the couch in front of him, watching the two of you move, lazily stroking their dick to full hardness. Half-lidded eyes meet your own gaze, and they bite their lip. It doesn’t do anything to stop the little moan from leaving their mouth.

You try a harder thrust, pumping into Asriel faster than you’ve been, though not as hard as you’d wanted. He still shouts, shuddering, and rocks his hips back. Your name is jumbled in his mouth now, as he flounders for other words; you think you hear “so good,” and “please,” and “Frisk, let me, want to,” and the realization of what Asriel’s trying to ask for has you pound your hips forward with a force beyond your intent. Asriel  _ yelps _ at that, and then grinds his hips back in equal measure.

“Frisk,” you say, voice gone breathy with exertion, “come a little closer to him.” 

Their hand stops, eyebrows raising as they realize your intent, and then they let go of themself and scoot forward on the cushions. As soon as they’re close enough, Asriel raises one arm to reach for them; his hold is shaky and has no strength to it, when he puts his hand on their hip. They let themself be pulled forward anyway, until Asriel can rest his forearm on their thigh and drop his head, all but inhaling their dick. His moans are hardly quieted at all, even while muffled with his mouth on Frisk.

You’ve slowed down, you realize, distracted by watching your partners. Frisk’s voice blends with Asriel’s as you rock forward, working back up to the quick and hard pace from before. Asriel can’t keep his upper body steady, and he’s quick to let your thrusts push him forward and fuck his mouth on Frisk’s cock. His voice rises quickly, in volume and pitch both, and you wonder if you shouldn’t reach one of your hands around him and jerk him off the rest of the way. It proves unnecessary as he gives a last, muffled yell, and goes still under you, hips rocking in tiny, restrained motions. You come to a stop with the dildo buried fully inside him, and slump forward, leaning some of your weight on him; you’re breathing hard, harder than you expected, your thighs burning with a familiar ache. 

Asriel takes his mouth off Frisk’s dick, laying his cheek on their thigh, panting open-mouthed. His eyes are clearly unfocused. Frisk runs their fingers through the short fur around his horns, giving a little scritch, and they look up to grin at you. You can’t help but grin back.

Easing the toy out of Asriel, you get up, and you use a clean spot on the towel to wipe any remaining come from his dick, before you let him fall onto the couch. The towel, then, gets crumpled and thrown in the general direction of the washing machine. It doesn’t go very far, landing in a heap on the floor only a couple feet away from the table.

Frisk is nearly bouncing where they sit, in a way you don’t think is actually related to their still-hard cock, wet with Asriel’s saliva. “What d’you think?” they ask, as soon as you’ve disposed of the towel. 

You smile at them, fingers moving to loosen the harness straps. “There seems to be a learning curve in using a dick,” you observe. “I’ll have to practice more.”

They squirm, this time in a way that absolutely has to do with their erect cock, and grin at you. “Other toys we can try, too, if you wanna keep using it,” they eagerly inform you.

You’ll have to ask them for elaboration on that, later. You wiggle the dildo free and Frisk jumps up, holding out a hand, wordlessly volunteering to go clean it off. You’ll probably wind up throwing it in the dishwasher later, to really sterilize it, but for now, just washing it off in the sink is enough. Dildo in hand, they dart off, leaving you to ease the harness off yourself. Asriel’s regained enough awareness to stare shamelessly, though he might drift off at any moment; once you’ve slipped out of the harness, you sit on the edge of the sofa next to him. You run your fingers through the fur on the back of his head, petting him, and smile down at him; he grins back up at you, sleepy and satisfied. 

“Good?” you ask him.

“Very,” he says, voice emphatic and rough. “Love you,” he adds.

You have to stomp down the urge to roll your eyes, to deflect any genuine displays of affection that certainly can’t actually be aimed at you. It takes you a couple seconds, but you duck down and place a kiss on his forehead. “You too,” you tell him. 

“Frisk has really good ideas,” he mumbles, content and comfortable. 

“They do,” you agree. You’ve known strap-ons existed, sure, but you’d never thought about using one; trust Frisk to get the idea to gift you such a new, enjoyable experience. 

Asriel’s eyes are starting to fall closed as you keep petting him. You look up from watching him slowly lose his grip on awareness to see Frisk has returned to the living room; they grin to have your attention. Their dick still stands fully erect between their legs.

“Get comfy?” they invite you, gesturing to the rest of the couch. You have a pretty good idea of their intentions, so you give Asriel one last pat and then move to sit in your favourite spot, that little corner where you can wedge yourself. Automatically, you pull your legs up; the corner spot is perfect for curling up in. Frisk grabs the towel on their way over, and they go to their knees almost as soon as they reach you, dropping the towel on the floor next to them. This time, you remember to grab one of the little throw pillows from the couch, and they accept it gratefully, putting it under their knees. 

They bring their hands up, fingers ghosting down your shin, from your knee to your ankle. “Okay?” they ask. In response, you open your legs. Frisk’s hands slip under your knees, light touches on the backs of your thighs guiding you to scoot forward and rest your legs on their shoulders, which you do readily. You almost miss the sight of their soft smile, as they duck their head and immediately set their tongue to your clit. The abrupt jolt of pleasure, without preamble or teasing, shocks a yell out of you; you arch your back and cling to the sofa’s upholstery and all but howl as Frisk’s tongue flicks at your clit. Vaguely, you’re aware that Asriel’s sat up to watch, and you roll your hips against Frisk’s mouth, letting them suck moans and cries out of you, your voice thick with desire.

One of their shoulders is moving under your leg. You narrow your eyes in focus, and then you realize: they’re stroking themself as they eat you out. Their other hand reveals itself as you feel their fingers under their tongue, slipping into you. Your legs jolt, as though you could pull Frisk closer, further into you, and their two fingers stroke inside you as their mouth is free to focus on your clit. 

They moan, and the little vibrations radiate through you, tiny ripples rapidly escalating to a tidal wave. Your second orgasm takes you by surprise, shooting through you, and your voice wobbles, your shouted moans toppling apart into little gasps as you twitch and tremble under Frisk’s mouth. Frisk’s shoulder goes still under your leg, and they moan into you again, a loud and full sound that tapers off into a small whimper before they run out of breath. They’re just as slow and gentle, albeit shaky, as they withdraw their fingers as they were when sliding them inside you, and they place a few parting kisses on your thighs as they raise their head. You can see, now, that they’d placed the towel over their lap while jerking themself off; there’s now another dark, damp spot directly on the face of one of the bright-eyed anime catboys decorating the towel. You pretend you don’t see it, and focus only on the fact that the couch is saved from a horrible fate once again. This is definitely part of why you usually move everyone to the bedroom, but today it’s a miracle you were able to think of even getting a towel, keyed up as you were. 

Exhausted, Frisk crawls up the couch to curl up next to you, letting the soiled towel drop to the floor. They rest their forehead on your shoulder, pressing their face into your arm with their eyes shut, and they let out an enormous huff of air, content and exhausted. Both their hands wrap around one of yours, their fingers curling loosely around your own, thumbs running over your knuckles. You drop your chin just enough to place a tiny kiss on the crown of their head, and then lean back, breathing deep. 

The cushions shift, and you roll your head to to the side to glare a half-hearted warning at Asriel as he crawls over. Big as he is, though, he probably weighs less than you, with that body made up of so much magic, and he sits at your other side, resting his chin on the top of your head and throwing an arm over you.

All three of you are in positions that you know are going to start to ache or cramp in the next five minutes. Still, at this moment, you couldn’t be happier, snuggling your favourite people in your comfy couch corner after a round of extremely good sex. Your partners are warm and solid at either side, and Asriel’s breath keeps ruffling your hair on every exhale, and one of Frisk’s knees is kind of digging into your thigh now. You wouldn’t trade this for anything.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me,” you warn both of them. Your own eyes are falling shut. “We still have to clean up here.”

Frisk nods against your arm, and Asriel mumbles, “Of course.”

You give in and let your eyes close all the way. In a few minutes, you’re pretty sure someone’s going to have a crick in their neck and get up, but until then, you’ll enjoy this.

  
  
  


An hour later, Asriel’s cell phone goes off, and Frisk gets knocked to the floor as the three of you startle awake. 

You guess it’s all right to be wrong, once in a while.


End file.
